


Unchained Melody

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Voice!Verse [1]
Category: Inception (2010), The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, Musician!Arthur, Oblivious Arthur, Singer!Eames, The Voice AU, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur closes his eyes and holds his breath and wonders, for the umpteenth time, how on earth he let his agent bully him into this.</p><p>He knows that he needs a good three minutes, minimum, to freak out before he can be expected to interact with people in a socially acceptable manner.</p><p>So, he does what any music-lover-turned-producer-turned-unwilling-television-show-coach would do in this terrifying situation: he hides in his dressing room.</p><p>(A.K.A. that Voice AU that nobody knew they needed)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea sort of popped into my head on day, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. As such, I feel like I need to put this disclaimer here: I don't watch the Voice regularly. 
> 
> I try to watch the Blind Auditions if I remember, and then I go on YouTube and watch the singers who are most popular. I find my favorite one, then just watch their performances on YouTube. Yes, I know, I'm horrible. I'm sorry. Because of this, I doubt I'm as familiar with the show as more loyal viewers. So! Any suggestions on ideas regarding the format of the show - battles, knockouts, etc - I'm all ears!! And also any suggestions for the coaches - again, I'm sorry, I know next to nothing about Gwen Stefani, and only slightly more about Blake and Adam.

Arthur closes his eyes and holds his breath as the woman flicks her fluffy little brush across his face and wonders, for the umpteenth time, how on earth he let his agent bully him into this.

“Ten minutes!”

Arthur wishes the woman would finish up already so he can start taking his deep breaths that will stop him from having a panic attack on stage. He swallows thickly as he realizes this will be on camera, too.

“All set, sugar,” the woman croons, pulling off the blanket she placed over his suit with a flourish. Arthur forces his mouth into the practiced shape that Mal assures him looks slightly friendly and mostly human. He knows it’s bad that he can’t even remember this woman’s name, and he knows that he needs a good three minutes, minimum, to freak out before he can be expected to interact with people in a socially acceptable manner.

So, he does what any music-lover-turned-producer-turned-unwilling-television-show-coach would do in this terrifying situation: he hides in his dressing room.

~+~+~

Arthur decided to dedicate his life to music on his fourth birthday, when his mother took him to his First Ever Piano Lesson. The teacher was a cranky, single jazz pianist who grumbled a lot when he talked and made sarcastic comments to Arthur’s mother that Arthur didn’t understand, but the man had a piano, and he could play it, and that was good enough for Arthur.

He played a song for Arthur during that First Ever Piano Lesson, and as Arthur heard the notes and chords, felt how happy some keys were to be together, how annoyed others were, he came to two decisions: he would become an amazingly talented musician, and then he would become a famous amazingly talented musician so that he could share his amazingly talented music with the whole world.

Arthur had to adjust those goals ever-so-slightly as he grew up and realized that Real Life wasn’t as supportive of musical careers as his mother was, but they more or less stayed the same. By the time he was choosing between New England Conservatory and Berklee College of Music, he was already a talented pianist and composer, and he was going to become a musical producer.

Unfortunately, Arthur realized only too late that the people in the music industry didn’t necessarily love music; they just wanted to be stars. So Arthur spent more time than he would have preferred writing songs for other people to sing. But all of his songs were a hit, and he got to surround himself with pitches and tones all day long, and his name was in that tiny print in the CD covers that you needed a microscope to read, but it was _there,_ and he was paid enough that he wasn’t _exactly_ a starving artist, so it was enough.

Then, finally, one of the producers noticed Arthur and took him under his wing, got him experience with producing, not just song writing, and helped Arthur move up in the world. He was nice enough that Arthur could hold back his aesthetic pain over the guy’s abrupt, discordant, just plain old boring name: Dom Cobb.

And so Arthur started making more money, started getting his name under the Producer and Composer headings, started moving closer to his four-year-old dream. And then Cobb heard Arthur singing one of his songs one afternoon when he barged into Arthur’s apartment without knocking – Arthur never should have given the guy a key – and forced Arthur to create his own album.

And then Arthur started making even more money, started seeing his face on store shelves and in digital libraries, started getting stopped in the street by fans (okay, so that only happened once, and Arthur thinks the girl was drunk and is pretty sure she thought he was someone else, but those are minor details, really), and started going places – mainly Cobb’s girlfriend’s fancy home because her rich French parents had bought her a Grand Piano and Arthur _needed_ that majestic creation in his life, but again, minor details.

And then Malorie (she had a lovely name, full of flowing rhythms and soft vowels), Cobb’s then-girlfriend and now lovely wife, demanded she become Arthur’s agent, and the three of them continued to top the charts and make amazing music, and Arthur was so happy that he was reaching his four-year-old dream, even if he refused to dance on stage when he performed, despite Dom’s protestations that it would help them reach a wider audience.

And then Mal all but blackmailed him into agreeing to do _this,_ and she even got Dom in on it too, and Arthur knew that there was a reason people said not to be best friends with their agent, but it’s too late now, and so Arthur is sitting in a ball in his dressing room, leaning against the leg of the grand piano that he had made a requirement in his contract, wondering just how much Mal hates him to make him do this.

~+~+~

“Arthur? You’re needed on stage in five.”

“Alright. I’ll be right out, thank you.”

Five minutes. Arthur can do this.

~+~+~

The other coaches are already there when Arthur makes it, cocky and casual and confident and cool. Arthur forces himself not to run a hand down the front of his jacket again as he approaches them, hears Blake’s rowdy laughter, Adam’s nasally tones, and Gwen’s running commentaries.

“Hey!” Blake slaps him on the shoulder, and Arthur prevents himself from stumbling under the force of it through sheer will alone. “You ready?”

“Sure thing,” Arthur manages, looking up at Blake. “You?”

“Can’t wait! Love this.”

Arthur tries to smile and quickly stops. He doesn’t even need a mirror to know it doesn’t look anything like a smile.

“Thirty seconds,” someone calls out.

Arthur takes some more deep breaths, hearing the prerecorded, _“This is the Voice!”_ echo through the halls.

~+~+~

They decided to sing one of Arthur’s songs for the Coaches’ Opening Performance instead of swapping songs like the last few seasons. Arthur really appreciates the gesture, and he’s really flattered that they want to, but it just kills Arthur’s soul to hear them rearrange the verses, repeat the chorus unnecessarily, to hear the melody drop down when it’s just begging to rise up.

It isn’t their fault that they can’t hear music like he does. Nobody can.

~+~+~

Arthur makes his grand entrance on the stage about halfway through the song. He is proud of himself for not squinting at the bright lights or wincing at the deafening, banshee-like screaming of the (female) live audience, and he sings the lyrics of the third verse flawlessly, even as his entire being is hearing where the chorus is supposed to be, where the echoed refrain comes in.

Afterwards, he sits in the strange, oversized, red chair between the other coaches, tries not to flail when it spins 180 degrees so that he’s forced to stare into the unblinking eyes of the audience, and takes some more deep breaths.

~+~+~

The first three blind auditions are terrible. There’s no other way to put it. Arthur has a notebook with him, and he doesn’t even pick up his pen. Adam and Gwen turned around for the first performer, Blake and Adam for the second, and all three for the third.

Arthur wonders if he’s missing something, because really, didn’t they hear it? The very flat high notes of the first singer, the total lack of soul in the second audition, and the complete and utter misunderstanding of the third song? Sure, that third guy was fun and energetic, but the song was about suicide, didn’t anyone realize? So, sorry, he isn’t going to turn around to a hyper guy excitedly singing, “And it broke my soul, shattered it to pieces, and I ran with the wind, far, far away.”

While they’re taking a break between auditions, the coaches bicker. Arthur doesn’t engage.

“You’re awfully picky, aren’t you?” Gwen asks conspiratorially, leaning over the enormous arm rest of her seat.

Arthur frowns, practice keeping him from outwardly reacting to her usual style of too much skin and too few fabrics. “No more than anyone else.”

Gwen laughs, but she doesn’t ask him more.

~+~+~

The next wave of auditions is slightly better. Arthur turns around for ten singers, always waiting until the very end of the song to press his button.

He listens to Adam and Gwen say superficially deep things like, “You can hear your soul in this song,” and, “I feel like you have so much to say, and I want to help say those things with you,” and watches Blake repeatedly make that humiliating and embarrassing “pick me” motion and takes lots and lots of notes. 

And when it’s his turn to talk, he glances at his notebook and says things like, “I was impressed by your range and control for this song. I know it’s extremely challenging,” and, “You handled the bridge and the key change elegantly.” He doesn’t lie. He doesn’t grovel. He doesn’t waste words.

Four of the singers pick him, and Arthur is pleasantly surprised and even a little flattered. He shakes their hands, flashes his practiced, semi-friendly and mostly-human smile at them, and wonders, again, just what, exactly, he is doing on this show.

~+~+~

People start to notice how Arthur never hits his button until the very end, how he takes meticulous notes, even on the contestants he doesn’t turn around for. People also notice his nice clothes and good posture, his careful, put-together appearance.

They don’t notice how Arthur’s careful deliberations and detailed notes betray his nerves, his anxiety. They don’t notice how Arthur’s nice clothes and good posture are a frighteningly thin shield against the world. They don’t notice just how much Arthur is terrified of being in the public eye.

No one ever notices.

~+~+~

As they pass the three-quarters mark in auditions, the coaches have been steadily filling up their rosters. Blake has eight, Adam has ten, and Gwen has nine. Arthur has six.

The other coaches tease him about being too picky, warn him that he’s going to be at a disadvantage if his team’s that small. Arthur doesn’t look like he’s worried. He makes sure of it.

He writes in his notebook, _Ask Mal: Rules regarding minimum number of singers per team? Disqualification possible?_

Wouldn’t that be sad?

~+~+~

The next wave of auditions is so painful, Arthur doesn’t know how he stops himself from running out of the room screaming. The renditions are banal, or pitchy, or screechy, or flat, and Arthur doesn’t want to be critical, because he understands what it takes for these singers to get up on a stage, alone, and put themselves out there for the world to see, and he commends them, really he does, but it just truly, genuinely hurts his ears and his brain to hear songs he’s so familiar with be sung in such unfamiliar, unnatural ways.

Maybe he’s been producing for too long.

Some even sing songs he’s written, which is worse.

Arthur calmly holds his pen and makes deliberate, repeated dots on the next blank page of his notebook. He has to turn to a new one after six songs.

~+~+~

“Last one for tonight,” someone says to the coaches as they set up for the next audition. Arthur breathes out, relieved. He needs his fluffy blanket, fluffy pajamas, and a good hour or two with his piano to remind him of all things good in this world.

The music begins, and Arthur presses his lips together as he immediately recognizes the opening bars of his most recent song, “A Dream Within A Dream.”

The contestant sings the first line, _I entered a world where the fake becomes real,_ and Arthur’s hand has pressed his button before his brain can catch up. It’s perfect, it’s beautiful, it’s exactly how Arthur wrote it, exactly how Arthur felt.

He watches the man, a bulky figure in a confusing outfit, stand in the center of the stage and sing Arthur’s song almost better than Arthur can sing it himself.

Arthur wants to make that little glowing message under his chair change from “I Want You” to “I NEED You.” If this man does not choose Arthur as a coach, Arthur will be beside himself.

Of course, Gwen, Blake, and Adam all turn around, too, and Arthur prepares himself to fight for this man.

“What’s your name?” he asks right away. The audience murmurs, because it’s the first time all night Arthur’s asked the contestant a question fist.

The man grins. “Eames. You’re Arthur.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow and feels a completely-natural, completely-unintended smile curl the edges of his mouth. Of course he’s British. Because, why not? “I am.”

Eames nods. “I’ve loved your music since I was a kid.”

“Well, shit,” Blake says, throwing his hands in the air.

“Yeah, that sucks,” Adam says.

The audience laughs.

“Listen, listen, Eames,” Blake says, holding a hand out towards the man. “Can you at least let us try to talk to you before you go running off to Arthur over there?”

Eames chuckles. “If you like, mate.”

“Oh, see, now he’s just being condescending,” Adam complains.

Arthur grins, still watching Eames. He freezes as he realizes…did Eames just wink at him?

The other coaches are all talking to Eames, and Arthur isn’t really listening, because…did he…wink?

“What about you, Arthur?” Eames asks with a grin, jolting Arthur out of his own head. “Do you want to say anything?”

Arthur blinks repeatedly. “Umm…” He taps his pen against his notebook.

Gwen laughs. “Wow, Eames, you’ve rendered Arthur speechless!”

The audience hoots and applauds.

Arthur ducks his head to hide his flush. He clears his throat. “I wasn’t sure, at first,” he starts, “because I’ve heard a lot of people sing my songs tonight, and I am extremely…”

“Picky!” the other coaches shout out.

Arthur glances over at them. “Critical,” he says, “when I hear others sing my music. I have a very specific idea in mind when I write each song, a very specific tone, and so I often can’t appreciate a rendition of one of my songs, however skilled and impressive it is, if the singer doesn’t…grasp that tone I was hearing.”

He’s pretty sure he’s speaking gibberish, but Eames is staring into his eyes, nodding, so Arthur continues.

“But you…” Arthur shakes his head. “That was beautiful. You understood exactly what I was trying to say, and you took it even a step farther, and…” He trails off and shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what else to say. You sing beautifully.”

The audience claps and stands and shouts, and Arthur stares at them all wide-eyed. “What?”

“Let’s hear it for best speech on the Voice!” Adam calls out, clapping.

Arthur gapes.

Eames is still grinning.

“So,” Gwen says, once everything dies down, “Eames, it’s time to pick your coach.”

Blake points at himself, Adam holds his hands out in front of him like he’s praying, Gwen smiles at Eames, and Arthur just sits completely still, afraid to breathe, and stares at Eames.

Eames stares back. Takes a deep breath. “Arthur.”

The audience roars. Arthur stands to shake Eames’ hand, stiffens when Eames totally ignores that and wraps Arthur in a hug. He pats Arthur on the cheek and saunters away, leaving Arthur staring after him, stunned.

The audience chuckles, and the other coaches chatter, and eventually everything is wrapped up and Arthur is finally alone, in his fluffy pajamas with his fluffy blanket and his piano, and he starts to compose a new song.

Eames’ grin keeps appearing in his mind, and Arthur can’t help but smile as he remembers just how gorgeous Eames’ voice sounded, gliding through Arthur’s melodies and chorus.

Maybe Mal had the right idea about this. Maybe.

~+~+~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Eames heard Arthur's music, he fell in love.

The first time Eames heard Arthur’s music, he fell in love.

It was a childish kind of love, especially since he had conquered puberty years ago, and it was an accidental love, since another performer was singing the song and it wasn’t until Eames checked the lyrics that he saw Arthur’s name, but it was an honest love.

Eames likes honesty. Which seems a bit hypocritical, actually, since he also enjoys lying to people. Not in a malevolent way, just a fun way. He likes to make up stories, fake accents, tell tall tales, just to see how much he can get away with.

As the decades have taught him, he can get away with quite a lot.

For example, he convinced his parents to let him take singing lessons for years, despite his father’s regular claims that singing was for the weak and his son would be a man.

For example, he convinced his boss to give him unlimited vacation time so that he could go on a lovely jaunt to audition for The Voice, a show he never watches but had to be a part of once he knew that Arthur was going to be a coach.

For example, he convinced all four coaches to turn around for his stellar performance, and he convinced Arthur to be his coach.

Well, he picked Arthur, but that’s just semantics.

The point is that when Eames is behind stage again, thrilled with the victory of his performance, absolutely nothing could ruin it for him. Absolutely nothing.

~+~+~

After that first song that Eames heard, he made it his life’s mission to learn everything he could about Arthur. He learned that Arthur had been raised by a single mother, that he had started piano at age 4, that he went to Berklee College of Music, that he has written and/or produced almost every song that is currently on Eames’ iPod, that he is, of all things, _younger_ than Eames.

This only makes Eames love him more.

~+~+~

After the blind auditions are completed, the singers who all made it huddle together backstage and talk.

“Oh my God, I didn’t think anyone was going to turn around at first,” a tiny, pink-haired girl gushes. Eames is fairly certain she has Gwen as a coach. Eames is also fairly certain Gwen is the only one who turned around.

A guy laughs, showing off his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. “Really? I knew I had mine in the bag.” Eames distinctly remembers him, and knows that he had 2 coaches turn for him.

“Who’s that Arthur person, though?” another girl asks. “Like, I’ve never even heard of him? How did he get to be a coach?”

A few others murmur their agreement.

“Yeah, wait a minute,” White-And-Straight Teeth says. “Which of you guys actually picked Arthur for coach?”

Eames raises his hand high above his head and sees the other six do the same. Good. Arthur’s team appreciates him, then.

“What were you guys thinking?” White-And-Straight Teeth says. “I mean, there’s no way any of you will win.”

Eames frowns, but another of Arthur’s singers, wearing more layers than Eames can count, speaks up first. “Um, think again, hotshot. Arthur’s a really successful producer and songwriter, so I’d say we’ve got equal chances as you, if not better ones.”

White-And-Straight Teeth stares at her. “What’s your name, doll?” he asks after a moment, smiling.

The girl’s eyes narrow. “Ariadne, _doll._ What’s yours?”

“Nash,” White-And-Straight Teeth answers. “But no, sorry. You guys are all gonna be heading home within a week.”

Eames scoffs. “Wait and see, mate. I bet we’ll surprise you there.”

“What do you mean he’s a successful producer and songwriter?” a blond country singer asks. Eames wishes she’d take her hat off.

“I mean he’s a successful producer and songwriter,” Ariadne says. “He’s written pretty much every song you hear on the radio lately.”

Nash laughs. “How sweet, doll, but no, I haven’t heard Arthur’s name for any of those.”

Ariadne glares at him and crosses her arms. “That’s because the singers take the credit for them. But if you actually did some research – you know, that involved _reading_ – you’d see that Arthur’s written almost all of them.”

Eames thinks that if he were different, Ariadne could easily be a girl after his own heart.

Nash rolls his eyes. “Okay, doll. You go with that.”

Eames opens his mouth to say something mean and hateful, but then an assistant comes over and tells the singers they are meeting with their coaches. Eames, Ariadne, and the others file into Arthur’s dressing room, after asking the assistant multiple times if she certain that Arthur wants them in there.

The room looks a bit bigger than Eames would have expected, and when they all go inside, he understands why.

Arthur is sitting at a bloody grand piano in his dressing room. Eames has died and gone to heaven.

Arthur glances over them all and nervously clears his throat.

“Hello,” he says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a plan, a very good plan, but then the singers all file in, looking nervous but eager and excitied, and his plan flies out the window -- along with the rest of Arthur's mental capacities.
> 
> He clears his throat. "Hello."
> 
> Eames grins and says, "Hello, Arthur, darling, how are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely hakkai_sensei has ordered that I edit my A/N in the initial summary, so now it says, _that Voice AU that nobody_ knew _they needed._ ^_^
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left me comments and kudos!!

Arthur has a plan, a very good plan, but then the singers all file in, looking nervous but eager and excited, and Arthur realizes he’s supposed to _know_ things, he’s supposed to mentor these people, and his plan flies out the window, along with the rest of Arthur’s mental capacities.

He clears his throat. “Hello.”

The singers smile and wave. One girl with a scarf and jacket says, “Hi,” and Eames grins and says, “Hello Arthur, darling, how are you?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, quickly, for strength. “So congratulations,” he starts, trying not to fidgit. “I doubt I need to tell you that you’re all very talented musicians.”

He sees some of them shuffle awkwardly and nearly slaps himself in the face. He had thought it’d be a good idea to meet them in his dressing room, for that informal, comfortable feel. He didn’t even think of where they’re going to sit.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I don’t have any chairs. I didn’t think of it…”

“Not to worry, Arthur, darling,” Eames says. He promptly sits down on the floor, legs crossed, looking comfortable as a king on a throne.

Arthur stares at him, and then the others as they all follow suit. Now he’s higher than them, up here on his piano bench. He hesitates, then takes off his suit jacket, folds it, and joins them on the floor.

“Right,” he says, once he’s settled. “I have to admit, I don’t really know much about this show.” He pulls out his notebook and flips to the page about the show’s format. “Next are...battles?” he looks up at the singers. “Anyone able to elaborate? Honestly, I am completely unfamiliar with all of this.”

Seven pairs of eyes stare at him.

“I just came here to meet you,” Eames offers.

The others nod in agreement.

 _No pressure,_ Arthur tells himself, because he should be flattered and warm and fluffy inside knowing that these seven came onto this show Just For Him, because they couldn’t even possibly know just how anxious he can get over these things – he and his mother didn’t even know until that time in seventh grade when he passed out – and really, it’s not that important, Arthur barely even thinks about it most of the time, and why is Arthur’s chest burning?

He takes a very deep breath.

“Okay,” he manages.

He looks back down at his notebook. “Right. So, battles. I pair you up, and each pair sings a song together, and at the end I have to pick one singer as winner.”

“So...duets where the singers are competing?” the girl with the scarf and jacket asks.

Arthur shrugs. “In a way. I’ve already started pairing you up, but…” he glances up at them all again. “Well, there’s seven of you, and I don’t really know what to do.” He had been hoping to ask them for help, but none of them know either. “I’ll look into it.” He writes in the margins, _Ask Mal. Odd number of singers – how to do battles?????_

“What happens to the people who lose the battles?” another asks.

Arthur swallows. “They get sent home. But,” he hurries to add, “the other coaches can steal you for their own teams.”

Everyone looks at each other in shock.

“But Arthur, darling,” Eames says after a moment, “that will leave you with three, maybe four singers.”

Arthur nods. “Yes.”

Everyone stares at him.

Arthur swallows. “I’m not worried. I turned around for you because you were the best singers I heard. To be honest, I believe you’re all of a much higher caliber than most of the other singers here, so…” He shrugs. “I’ll hate to lose half of you so early on, but I’m not worried about my chances, if that’s what you’re all looking at me like that for. I trust you all.”

The girls all say, “Aww,” in unison.

“So, yeah.” Arthur shrugs. “I’ll be meeting with you all to…coach you. Soon.”

Eames glances around their small ring. “Shall we get to know each other a bit more, then?” he asks. “Before we lose half of you forever?” The singers all chuckle. “I’m Eames, I love to sing, and the first Arthur song I heard was ‘Forger.’”

He grins and turns to the girl with the scarf and jacket, who smiles. “I’m Ariadne,” she says, and waves. “I also love to sing, obviously, and the first Arthur song I heard was…” She wrinkles her nose and looks at the ceiling. “Oh man, it was years ago. Um, I’m pretty sure it was “Parisian Paradox” but it might have been something else.”

“Oh my gosh, I love ‘Parisian Paradox’!” another girl gushes. “Those chords?”

Another girl nods. “The opening riff just…” she clutches her chest dramatically.

Arthur watches them all dazedly.

The next singer, a blonde boy with freckles, looks around the circle with wide eyes. “Um,” he gulps. “I…my name is Isaac. I don’t mind singing. The first Arthur song I listened to was ‘Inception.’”

“That’s my favorite one!” Eames shouts with a smile. “Well, other than, you know, every other Arthur song that exists.”

The singers laugh.

“Harry,” the next boy says. “I, too, enjoy singing, and the first Arthur song I heard was ‘Collapsing,’ which remains one of my absolute favorites.”

“So dramatic,” Ariadne agrees.

“Hi,” the next girl says with a huge wave. “I’m Irene, and I adore singing almost as much as I adore Arthur.” She and the other girls giggle. “I actually don’t know the name of the first Arthur song I heard because it was on the radio, but the DJ said afterwards that it was written by Arthur.”

“Hum it,” Eames suggests.

Irene grins but immediately starts humming, and Arthur can’t help but say, “Oh, ‘Escape in the Night?’ That was one of my first songs.”

The others start talking over each other, asking Arthur if he can recognize any of his songs that quickly, asking him which ones are his favorites, asking if he’ll sing something for them right now.

“Wait, wait, wait,” one of the last two girls shouts. “You’re forgetting us! I’m Diana, I first started singing in the shower when I was seven, and the first Arthur song I ever heard was ‘Without Gravity.’”

“Oooh, that one’s fantastic,” Harry says.

“I tried to figure out how to play it on my guitar,” Isaac says, pushing his glasses higher up his nose, “but I couldn’t figure out all the chords. There were so many layers in it.”

“Oh, mate, you think that’s a lot of layers?” Eames asks. “Have you listened to ‘Limbo’ yet? That one’s insane.”

“I have,” the last girl says. “I’m Trisha, I sing much more than my mother would like, and the first Arthur song I heard was, ‘Don’t Think About Elephants,’ although I think ‘Limbo’ is one of my favorites.”

They all start chattering until Eames interrupts them. “But, Arthur, darling, you haven’t introduced yourself.”

“Do I say which Arthur song I wrote first?” Arthur asks.

“No!” Diana says. “Tell us the first song you ever sang.”

Arthur smiles briefly. “Well I started as a pianist. I didn’t sing until I got to college.” He frowns. “I don’t remember which song was the first one I ever sang. Sorry.”

“Well, then you have to play us something,” Irene says. “It’s only fair.”

Everyone starts shouting out suggestions, and Arthur slowly gets up and walks back over to the piano. “I’ll pick my own,” he says. “But you all have to sing, too. It’s only fair.”

He plays “Mr. Charles,” and everyone comes in right on time and perfectly in tune. When they reach the chorus, some of them break off into harmonies, and Arthur’s grinning like a fool by the end of the song.

Yeah. He’s not worried about his chances on this show. He’s got the best of the bunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a funny story for you all, but first, a **VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION:** Does anyone have any idea what to do with an odd number of singers for a battle? Because I seriously have absolutely no idea how that works. Anyone???
> 
> \--
> 
> So anyways, funny story: When I first thought of this, I had this image in my mind of it focusing on Eames and Arthur, with Eames being totally, completely, irrevocably in love with Arthur, and with Arthur acting all cool and collected to protect himself from Eames until he, too, falls totally, completely, irrevocably in love with Eames, most likely revealing it in, like, the last chapter because this is Arthur we're talking about here.
> 
> I don't know how, but in only three chapters, that idea has been pushed aside in the name of The Fluffy Arthur Fan Club. *shrugs helplessly* Seriously, I was thinking less giggles, more angst. But this is proof that Arthur and Eames have minds of their own, and they are refusing to let me make them sad after what I did to them in [Something Special](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5671387/chapters/13065049). Clearly.
> 
> So with that said, I hope you all are enjoying the fluff! And, really, if anyone knows what teams with an odd number of singers do for battles on the Voice, please tell me!! Thank you!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames and the others have a serious conversation later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I had a serious case of writer's block!! As recompense, I'm updating both this fic and [I Know You,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6043003) so yeah...thank you to everyone who's been so supportive and offered some helpful tips! I hope you all enjoy!

Eames and the others have a serious conversation later.

“I researched this,” Isaac says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “and no teams have ever had an odd number of singers. Ever. In the past, they would continue to have auditions until every single coach had an even number.”

“Then who messed this up so badly?” Diana asks. “I mean, really, are we supposed to believe no one noticed?”

“Yeah, whoever it is must be trying to screw Arthur up,” Trisha agrees.

“Well, does that mean Arthur can do what he wants?” Eames wonders. “Maybe we can do a trio?”

“I can go home,” Irene offers. “Really, I just wanted to meet Arthur, so I wouldn’t mind.”

A few others start to agree, but Ariadne cuts them off. “Guys! We have the chance to get Arthur four singers here! If one of you goes home, he’ll only have three.”

Everyone quiets down at that.

“What if one of us sings twice?” Diana suggests. “But we only count for one?”

“But then the person singing against you would automatically have to win,” Harry says. “It would get messy trying to shuffle us around.”

“A trio,” Eames says. “We could do a trio, and have Arthur only eliminate one of us. That’ll give him four of us.”

“Will he agree to it?” Harry asks.

Ariadne shrugs. “What other options do we have here?”

“Wait, what about this,” Trisha says. “What if Arthur could pick one of us to automatically move on to the next round? Then the rest of us would battle.”

“But how would he pick?” Diana asks.

Isaac blinks. “We could each sing a song for Arthur and let him decide.”

“Hmm,” Eames says. “Why don’t we offer both options to Arthur and let him have some input here?”

Trisha laughs. “Oh man, we’re trying to run Arthur’s team for him!”

Ariadne smirks. “No, we’re trying to _win_ Arthur’s team for him.”

Isaac glances over at her. “That didn’t grammatically make sense,” he says, “but I think I understood what you were saying anyway.”

“Let’s win Arthur’s team for him, then!” Harry says.

~+~+~

They meet with Arthur a few days later for their first formal coaching session. They are all settled in his dressing room when he comes in, looking sheepish.

“I wasn’t aware of this,” he says, rubbing his fingers against each other, “but they film these things for the show.” He steps aside and some very large filming equipment enters the room. “And technically we’re supposed to be in a formal studio that they have set up for us, but I just went down there, and their piano is out of tune.”

Everyone makes sounds of disapproval.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “So I told them we’d just do it in here.” He glances around the relatively small room. “Sorry it’ll be cramped.”

“Not to worry,” Eames says. “On the bright side, we’ve uncovered a solution to your pairing problem. Well, two potential solutions.”

Arthur’s face brightens. “Really?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “We could either group ourselves so that there is one trio, which would mean two would stay and one would get sent home.”

“Or you could pick one of us to automatically go on to the next round,” Ariadne says. “Then the six others would participate in the battles.”

Arthur smiles faintly. “I thought I was supposed to be the coach here.”

“You can coach us once we’ve figured this all out,” Diana offers.

Arthur chuckles. “Do any of you have a preference?” he asks.

“No,” Eames says with a grin. “We actually couldn’t decide between these two, so we thought we’d ask you.”

“I see.” Arthur writes something in his notebook. “My agent put the fear of God in basically everyone who messed this up for us, you know with the odd-numbered team. So in return they agreed to let me decide how to proceed with this issue.”

“And?” Trisha asks.

“I think,” Arthur says, sitting on the piano bench, “that you should each pick a song to sing for me, and I will let one of you get a free pass this time around. A battle with three would be a bit unwieldy.”

Eames grins. “Fantastic. Shall we sing next time we’re here?”

Arthur frowns slightly. “I’ll give you all tomorrow to practice your songs and get some feedback. You can sing the day after that.”

~+~+~

During their next meeting, they all work together, helping each other out with trickier parts of their songs and laughing and having a grand old time as Arthur flits around, speaking to each of them one-on-one. The cameraman looks perpetually confused.

“You’re supposed to be competing, you know,” he says to them all from behind his monstrous tripod.

“We are,” Ariadne responds. “We’re competing with the people on the other teams.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “As long as one of makes it to the end, we’ll all be happy for Arthur to win.”

The cameraman clearly doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t press the issue.

~+~+~

They all sing the next day, and even through the shields of his notebook and his suit and his mostly calm face, Eames can tell that Arthur is happy and proud for all of them. He sits on the edge of his piano bench, looking completely relaxed, and smiles a full, brilliant smile that makes Eames’ breath stop for just a second.

“You all are amazing,” Arthur says. “So, so incredibly talented and gifted.”

“Right back at you,” Trisha says with a wink.

Arthur flushes slightly and looks down. “Well, I don’t think you could have made it more impossible for me to choose between you all,” he says, “but I am comforted by the fact that I will still have most of you on my team after this round, and the three I have to let go will no doubt be stolen by the other coaches.”

Eames can’t help but smile at Arthur’s quiet compassion. He’s even better in person than Eames had anticipated.

“So…” Arthur sighs heavily. “With that said, I give Diana the pass to the next round.”

Everyone immediately starts to cheer, and the girls have an enormous group hug while the guys all grin and clap and laugh. Eames glances over at Arthur, sitting on his piano bench with a small smile.

He walks over to Arthur’s side and bends down slightly. “Good choice,” he murmurs.

Arthur glances up, wide-eyed, then relaxes. “Thanks.”

Eames nods and backs away again. Maybe by the end of this show, Arthur will feel comfortable enough to engage with others, too.

~+~+~

The battles begin, and Eames watches Arthur’s face on the monitors backstage. Singers aren’t required to watch every battle, but all seven members of Arthur’s team make sure they see every single one.

Ariadne and Isaac are the first on Team Arthur to perform, and the others cheer so loudly that someone has to come over to tell them to quiet down so that the microphones on stage can’t pick them up. Eames can’t help but feel ridiculously proud about that.

They had all been working nonstop for the last few days, singing together and offering tips to each other. Coaches are allowed to bring in someone to assist in coaching for this round, so Arthur called his friend Dom Cobb, who produced Arthur’s first songs. The two sat on Arthur’s piano bench every day, and Eames laughed the first time he saw them. They couldn’t have looked more different if Cobb had worn a hot pink dress and heels.

Cobb actually had some very good advice, even if his wife was always bursting in at random intervals to blabber at him in French and gently tease Arthur. Eames likes her a lot, and he’s glad she’s Arthur’s agent.

When Ariadne and Isaac walk onstage, Mal appears backstage and stands with the others. “Relax, my lovelies,” she murmurs. “They will be magnificent.”

“We aren’t worried about that,” Trisha says with a smile. “We’re just sad that one of them will leave us.”

Mal purses her lips regretfully, and the opening riffs to _Phantom’s All I Ask of You_ filter in through the speakers and monitor.

They’re a fantastic duo, between Ariadne’s smooth, melodious voice and Isaac’s rougher, richer tones, and Eames can’t help himself from clapping at each harmony, at each incredibly high note, at the breathtaking finish.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Carson Daly calls over the audience’s applause, “that is how you do a battle!”

The other coaches skip over the traditional commentary section to start fighting over which of them gets the loser of this battle.

“Isaac,” Adam says, “you have a unique quality to your voice that fit this song so perfectly, and the range that you have is amazing. We could do so much together.”

“Yeah, because you’re the queen of high notes,” Blake interrupts.

“Would you shut up?” Adam asks with an arrogant tilt to his head. “I’m talking right now.”

“I’m just saying.” Blake puts his hands in the air. “You always mention how you like to sing the high notes.”

Gwen laughs and leans forward, speaking over Blake and Adam’s overlapping voices. “While the boys are fighting, I just want to tell you both that you are incredible singers, and Arthur has his work cut out for him today. Excellent job.”

“Okay, Arthur,” Carson Daly says. “Who won this battle?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, tapping his pen against his notebook. Eames is starting to learn all of Arthur’s nervous tics, and pen-tapping is a big Number One.

“You were phenomenal,” Arthur says. “I felt the magic in this song, the mystery, the fear, the romance. I cannot describe how disappointed I am to have to lose one of you.”

The audience cheers supportively.

“Who do you pick, Arthur?” Daly asks.

Arthur closes his eyes. A heartbeat of silence descends over the audience.

He opens his eyes. “Ariadne.”

The audience explodes into screaming applause, and Ariadne gives Isaac a tight hug. Instead of leaving the stage like the others, she stays at Isaac’s side, linking her arm around his. “Anyone want to steal him?” she asks with a grin.

The coaches all hit their buttons immediately, and the audience goes wild.

“A three-way steal!” Daly shouts excitedly. Ariadne beams at Isaac, who smiles, pushing his glasses higher up his nose.

Eames and the others shriek from their spot backstage, and Mal croons, “What did I say? Do not worry, my lovelies. You are all magnificent.”

The coaches argue some more, and Isaac ends up picking Adam. The two shake hands, while Ariadne dashes over to Arthur and hugs him tightly, grinning ear to ear. Eames laughs at the look on Arthur’s face.

Isaac and Ariadne return backstage, and they all shout and chatter and plan for their next steps, for how to get Arthur to win The Voice. They hardly notice the camera that’s trained on them.

~+~+~

Trisha and Irene deliver a mind-blowing performance of K.D. Lang’s rendition of _Crying,_ and Adam and Gwen immediately start fighting over the two. Arthur picks Irene after a painful deliberation, and Irene remains on the stage until Gwen steals Trisha. Both girls hug Arthur, and his reaction is just as priceless as the first one.

Then, Eames and Harry are up. They fist bump on stage and grin at each other over their microphones as _Work Song_ by Hozier starts to play. It’s exhilarating singing on a stage in front of a live audience, Eames realizes as he and Harry belt out the lyrics. Eames’ eyes keep darting around, from Harry to Arthur to the audience back to Harry. He loves this—the energy, the adrenaline, the music. He loves this.

They stand shoulder to shoulder as the coaches bicker and their voices overlap. Eames can’t take his eyes off Arthur, frowning deeply at his notebook and writing furiously. Poor Arthur, he thinks. He puts so much pressure on himself.

At Daly’s prompting, Arthur throws down his pen and runs a hand through his hair. Eames’ eyebrows rise. He’s never seen Arthur do that before.

“This day is killing me,” Arthur says, shutting his eyes. “How am I supposed to choose between you? This is so cruel.”

Harry and Eames smile. “Hey, no hard feelings, Arthur,” Harry says. “We get it. Take your pick.”

Arthur smiles back weakly and shakes his head. “This is impossible.”

“Flip a coin,” Eames suggests.

The audience laughs.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know that, whoever I pick, I will deeply regret it.” The audience cheers him on.

“You can always steal them back in the Knockouts,” Adam offers.

Arthur shakes his head, eyes closed again. “Harry,” he says in a heavy exhalation, straightening slowly. “Harry.”

Harry immediately turns and wraps an arm around Eames’ shoulders. “Someone better steal this guy,” he says. “Or I’m gonna have to quit.”

Blake hastily presses his button, while Arthur and while Gwen whine that they have no steals left.

Eames looks Arthur in the eyes, smiles softly, watches as Arthur smiles apologetically back, and walks over to Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to watch The Voice more right now, you know. For science. And I love Christina as a coach, and now I'm disappointed I didn't make her the female coach so I could write about her...so many regrets with this fic and it's only 4 chapters long haha!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s team now has six members—he stole two random performers at Mal’s orders to make his team larger, and an even number this time. He’ll have three left after the Knockouts.
> 
> Arthur knows it’s horrible to think this way, but he’s already decided that the two newbies will be the ones sent home, because they have nothing on his original four. And he knows that it’s pretty pitiful to fight for two singers just to disqualify them, but he thinks it’s slightly better than having a team of two after only the second round of this show.
> 
> He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been _ages,_ everyone, sorry! Hope you enjoy this next installment!

Arthur’s team now has six members—he stole two random performers at Mal’s orders to make his team larger, and an even number this time. He’ll have three left after the Knockouts.

Arthur knows it’s horrible to think this way, but he’s already decided that the two newbies will be the ones sent home, because they have nothing on his original four. And he knows that it’s pretty pitiful to fight for two singers just to disqualify them, but he thinks it’s slightly better than having a team of two after only the second round of this show.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He doesn’t know.

~+~+~

He tries to spot Isaac and Trisha and Eames, runs into them once in a while, but they’ve mostly disappeared from his small sphere of existence. He misses them.

~+~+~

Arthur works with his team, pushes Harry, Ariadne, Irene, and Diana to the limits of their skill and brings them just a bit further. They gladly follow.

The other two sing their hearts out, and Arthur tries to act polite, caring, but he’s too busy thinking, _They’ll save two of My Team…but what about the others?_ He’s going to have to lose one last member of his original group, and he can’t for the life of him decide how he’s going to deal with that.

He jots down copious notes—as well as frantic exclamation points and _WHY DID YOU LET MAL TALK YOU INTO THIS_ —but gets no closer to a solution.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

~+~+~

They have a longer period of time between the Battles and Knockouts, since these segments are pre-recorded. Arthur refuses to let himself think about the live performances that are waiting for him. He’s got more pressing things to think about.

~+~+~

In the end, Arthur decides to pair Ariadne and Irene with his two newbies, leaving Diana and Harry to compete with each other. They each sing gorgeously, magnificently, and Arthur once again can’t possibly choose.

“Who won it, Arthur?” Daly asks him again.

 _I know that I lost it,_ Arthur thinks. But that doesn’t help anyone.

He presses his eyes shut and rubs the back of his neck. Breathes deeply. In. Out. Again. Again.

“Diana,” he says.

The audience roars. Diana hugs him. Harry shakes his hand just as Blake hits his button for a steal.

And Arthur loses another one of his singers.

~+~+~

They have some time before the next round, while the filmers and editors and producers and whoever else focus on putting everything together to be aired on TV. So Arthur hides in his dressing room with his grand piano and plays for hours.

He’s tinkering with an arrangement of Scarborough Fair when someone knocks on his door. Arthur hesitates before opening it.

“Hello,” Eames says.

Arthur stares. “Hello.”

“I just…” Eames shrugs and chuckles. “I heard you playing, and I wanted to check in. Everything going alright?”

Arthur sighs. “I lost Harry.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to figure out how to get rid of the other singers on Team Blake for you.”

Arthur looks Eames in the eyes, spots a glimmer. “Are you serious?” he asks.

“Yes and no,” Eames says. He glances around, then looks at Arthur again. “They’re airing the Blinds tonight. Do you want to watch with me?”

Arthur frowns. He hadn’t realized it was tonight. To be fair, he hadn’t planned on watching the episodes as they aired. At all.

“You don’t have to,” Eames says, when Arthur doesn’t respond for a long while. “I just thought I’d offer. I could use the moral support, you know.”

“You already know you’re going to make it,” Arthur says. He steps forward, and Eames, confused, steps back into the hall. Arthur makes sure the key is in his pocket before he closes the dressing room door behind him.

Now, Eames is the one staring.

“Well?” Arthur asks. “Where are we going to watch them?”

~+~+~

They sit on the couch in Eames’ small room. The TV is on the right channel, playing the credits from the previous show. Eames comes in with a glass of water for Arthur, a cup of tea for himself, and a comically large bowl of popcorn.

“Do you have a Twitter, Arthur?” Eames asks, sitting down and pulling out his phone

Arthur grunts. “Mal forced me to make one. I don’t use it very often.”

Eames nods just as the show begins.

~+~+~

Their opening performance is actually really good. Arthur watches as he makes his grand entrance, hears the audience screaming.

“Look at you, Arthur,” Eames murmurs. His eyes are flicking between his phone screen and the TV. “Bloody brilliant.”

Arthur starts to say something stupid, but Eames is staring at his phone, so Arthur stops himself just in time.

~+~+~

Watching the blind auditions on TV with commercials is almost more painful than sitting through them the first time.

Eames winces at a particularly sharp high note and quickly mutes the TV. “You don’t mind, do you, Arthur?” he asks. “It almost hurts when I hear off notes.”

Arthur can’t help himself from smiling. “Me too. It’s fine.”

~+~+~

The night goes well. Arthur enjoys Eames’ company, they share opinions about the other singers. Eames claps every time he sees one of his teammates performing. As the minutes pass, Arthur realizes he can’t stop smiling.

He heads home afterwards. There’s a notification on his phone.

_@eamessings followed you._

Arthur follows him back before he lets himself second-guess it.

~+~+~

In the morning, when Arthur wakes up, his phone has 50 notifications. Arthur stares at his lock screen for a moment, frozen in horror, before he types in the passcode.

_@eamessings mentioned you in a tweet: Don’t forget to watch the Blind Auditions! (And follow @ArthurGordon, this season’s new coach!)_

_@voiceaddict followed you  
@voiceaddict liked one of your tweets_

_@arthurisbeautiful followed you  
@arthurisbeautiful mentioned you in a tweet: OMG Arthur has a Twitter????? Everyone follow @ArthurGordon this man is a genius!! #ArthurVoice_

And the notifications never end. Arthur has hundreds of new followers. He’s mentioned in too many tweets to count. He’s...trending?

A new tweet appears.   
_@eamessings: The amazing @ArthurGordon is officially trending on Twitter! #ArthurVoice_

Everything is moving too quickly, and Arthur doesn’t know how to make it stop. So he turns off his phone and plays the piano.

~+~+~

The tweets keep coming as the rest of the blind auditions air. The night of the battles, Eames knocks on Arthur’s dressing room door again, and somehow Arthur ends up on Eames’ couch for the second time, eating buttery popcorn and watching himself on TV.

“I wasn’t aware of this,” he hears himself say. The camera is practically on top of his back, peering over his shoulder into his small dressing room. “But they films these things for the show.”

He enters the room, and the camera follows. It pans across the singers’ faces as Arthur mentions the out-of-tune pianos.

“On the bright side, we’ve uncovered a solution to your pairing problem,” Eames says on the TV.

Arthur groans and slouches down on the couch. “They kept all of this?” He looks over at Eames. “Why does the universe hate me?”

Eames smiles. “I doubt it does.”

“There's something highly unusual about Arthur's team,” the narrator says. Arthur glances at the screen and sees clips of his singers. Diana and Ariadne giving each other advice on their songs. Harry helping Eames rearrange the ending to his song.

“They are determinedly tight-knit, and it seems like the only singers they want to compete with are the ones on the other teams.”

It cuts to a clip of Harry looking straight into the camera. “As long as one of us makes it to the end, we'll all be happy for Arthur to win.”

It cuts again to Arthur sitting at his piano. “You all are amazing,” he says to his singers “So, so incredibly talented and gifted.”

It goes to commercial, and Arthur looks over at Eames again. “When did Harry say that?” he asks.

Eames raises his eyebrows. “What, are you surprised? Any one of us would have said that, it's just that he cameraman was talking to him and Ariadne.”

Arthur thinks about that. “Thank you,” he says.

Eames hums and pulls out his phone. “Arthur,” he says.

He holds out his phone. At first, Arthur doesn't understand what he's seeing.

_@imaginationisevrythng: Ohmygod @ArthurGordon is such a lovely guy, and his team is the best!! #ArthurVoice_

_@musicislife: How is it I'm only just hearing about @ArthurGordon?? I googled him and he's written like every song I love! #ArthurVoice_

_@arthurisbeautiful: Welcome to the #ArthurGordonFanClub, everyone! We have great music, dedicated fans, and beautiful suits!_

_@rockinRoger: I've been getting sick of The Voice lately, but now my favorite musician EVER is a coach!! @ArthurGordon #ArthurVoice_

_@gnis: Just seeing @ArthurGordon work I know his battles are gonna be EPIC #ArthurVoice_

They go on and on and on. Arthur has to stop reading after a few minutes.

~+~+~

Arthur’s team’s battles don’t air until the next night.

Ariadne and Isaac are up first, with their performance of Phantom’s All I Ask of You. They’re just as incredible on screen as they were in person. After they finish, the camera cuts to Eames, Diana, Irene, Harry, and Trisha backstage, jumping up and down and cheering wildly. Arthur can’t help but laugh.

Twitter has fallen in love.

_@rockinRoger: That was AMAZING. @ArthurGordon is a great coach. @AriadneMaze and @Isaaacc are so talented!!! #VoiceBattles_

_@gnis: Mind. Blown. #VoiceBattles_

_@florally: One of the most epic duets I have ever seen in my life!! #VoiceBattles_

_@superherofan: Awww look at Arthur’s team!! They are literally the best ever. #ArthurVoice #VoiceBattles_

_@arthurisbeautiful: Such a hard decision for @ArthurGordon...I wouldn’t be able to decide._

On screen, Arthur is tapping his pen as Adam and Blake argue with each other. Gwen interrupts, and Daly asks Arthur to pick a winner.

Twitter loves the fact that Ariadne stays on stage until someone steals Isaac.

_@bettyrocker:Arthur’s team is literally my #squadgoals. Love them so much!!_

~+~+~

It’s just as magical watching Trisha and Irene perform. And Eames and Harry.

And then it’s time for Arthur to pick a winner, Eames or Harry. Arthur immediately stiffens and purposefully doesn’t look at Eames sitting on the couch at his side.

He watches himself throw down his pen and run a hand through his hair. Watches Eames suggest he flip a coin. Watches himself pick Harry. Watches Eames join Team Blake.

It goes to commercial again.

“You don’t have to feel bad, Arthur,” Eames says after a brief quiet. “Really.”

Arthur closes his eyes. He can’t even be bothered to wonder how Eames knew what he was thinking. “But I do,” he says.

Eames places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m still on the show, Arthur. I’m still here. You made a decision, and we’re all fine because of it.”

Arthur scoffs. “I miss you all,” he says.

Eames’ hand tightens on Arthur’s shoulder. “Me too,” he says. “We miss you too.”

~+~+~

Arthur gets home late that night. He glances at his phone, sees the millions of notifications. He’s about to shut it off, when he sees a notification for @eamessings.

_@eamessings: So sad to leave @ArthurGordon, but still excited to be a part of the show! Wishing everyone on #TeamArthur the best of luck!_

Arthur falls asleep with his phone in his hand, still showing Eames’ tweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Twitter and clueless Arthur!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames really likes Arthur. Has he mentioned that lately?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I wrote Arthur a little bit out of character, but I couldn't bear to change it.

Eames really likes Arthur. Has he mentioned that lately? Like, _really_ likes. He hadn’t really expected that, but after spending time with him—hell, after seeing his face as that chair spun around—Eames was a goner.

That’s not entirely his fault. Arthur could stop being so appealing. He could stop being so supportive and talented and quietly kind and bloody _brilliant_ all the time. But no, he never does. And so Eames fell more each day.

He promised himself to do _absolutely nothing_ because Arthur was his coach, and if (when) Eames screwed up, he’d screw up his entire chance on the show, and he would hurt Arthur, too, and it would just be horribly messy and cruel.

But then he ends up on Team Blake. And he can’t help but think about Arthur every. Bloody. Day.

It wa impulsive really, when Eames heard Arthur playing the piano. He knocked, invited him over to watch the Blinds. He didn’t expect Arthur to accept so quickly, but he adjusted, faked it until he made it. And he made it.

He made it so well that he got to enjoy _multiple_ nights in Arthur’s company. And sure, maybe Arthur doesn’t really seem to understand why Eames keeps inviting him over, but it’s fine, because Eames gets to see Arthur’s face every time Twitter starts singing his praises—something that happens more often than not lately. And he gets to sit next to Arthur on his pitiful excuse for a couch and learn that he and Arthur actually have quite a few things in common, musically speaking.

They both have perfect pitch (although Eames knew that already thanks to Wikipedia and the Internet). But, more importantly, Eames thinks Arthur _hears_ music the same way he does. Eames had thought that nobody did. There isn’t really any good way to confirm it. Asking, _Can you tell when notes enjoy each other’s company?_ or something equally strange could cause unnecessary complications and strange sideways looks.

So, long story short, Eames revises his plan (again) and decides that he is going to do everything it takes to get far enough in this show to have a duet with a celebrity. Because if he can, he is going to have the best duet in the _history_ of duets. And in the meantime, he’s going to keep spending time with Arthur, because at the very least, it looks like the poor guy needs a friend.

~+~+~

On the night that the Knockouts air, Eames shows up outside Arthur’s dressing room slightly later than usual, panting slightly, hand already raised to knock, but he stops to listen to what Arthur is playing. It’s hauntingly beautiful, and he stands, frozen, in the hall until Arthur has stopped playing.

He recovers quickly afterwards and knocks briskly. “Ready?” he asks with a grin when Arthur appears in the door.

~+~+~

So, here’s the thing: Eames has been paying close attention to Arthur, and he knows what makes Arthur comfortable and what makes Arthur nervous. And he also knows that Arthur’s going to beat himself up if he watches himself eliminate Harry from his team, too. So Eames has no intentions of letting Arthur anywhere a TV.

They walk away from Arthur’s dressing room in a comfortable quiet, and Eames glances over at Arthur. He’s bobbing his head slightly, and Eames can’t help but smile affectionately. Is he thinking of a familiar song, playing it back in his head like Eames can? Or is he composing something entirely new?

Arthur is so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t even realize Eames is leading them on a different route until they arrive at a large practice room that Eames had charmed the security guards and janitors and bloody _piano tuner_ into letting him use it tonight without interruption.

“Eames?” Arthur says, frowning at the door. He blinks owlishly and looks around at the deserted halls.

Eames opens the door with a flourish, revealing a brightly lit room, large, spacious, with a gorgeous black grand piano sitting right in the center. It’s bigger than the one in Arthur’s dressing room. Eames made sure of it.

Arthur’s mouth drops and he immediately enters the room, wide eyes fixated on the grand piano. He gently slides his hands over the side of it, gazing under the lifted lid at the strings and hammers. Slowly, as if under a spell, he drifts over to the bench and sits, placing his fingers lightly on top of the keys.

Eames is struck with a sudden sense of _right,_ seeing Arthur seated, his hands resting exactly where they belong.

“Eames,” Arthur breathes, staring down at his hands.

Eames smiles and sits down in the fold-out chair he’d left for himself on the side of the room. “Play me a song, Arthur.”

Arthur smiles beatifically, ducks his head, takes a deep breath, and _plays_.

~+~+~

Eames could watch Arthur play the piano until the end of the world. His fingers dance over the keys, so gentle that they barely seem to even touch, but those soft caresses coax out gorgeous melodies and harmonies and such _warmth_ that Eames can’t help but keep staring at Arthur’s hands, trying to understand just how he does it.

Arthur plays and plays and plays, until he seems to forget Eames is in the room. He starts to tinker, plays short phrases again and again as if he’s practicing, experiments with various chords and arpeggios while muttering to himself. And the entire time, Eames notes, Arthur’s face is peacefully calm, not a hint of a frown anywhere to be found.

~+~+~

Hours later, Eames stands up and places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He tries not to melt when Arthur sighs deeply and leans back into Eames, eyes closed.

“Arthur,” he whispers, too afraid to speak louder and disturb the remnants of Arthur’s music lingering in the air, the remnants of whatever spell Arthur’s music cast that made Arthur so soft and pliant. “Arthur, it’s getting late.

Arthur hums softly. “‘Kay.”

Eames idly rubs his hand in small circles on Arthur’s back. “You should get some sleep.”

Arthur laughs breathily. “Sleep?” he echoes. “Sure, why not.” He stands and leans into Eames, surrendering all of his weight.

Eames wraps an arm around Arthur’s waist and marvels at how relaxed Arthur is, how content, how trusting. “Come along, Arthur darling, let’s get you home.”

Arthur nods sluggishly. “I missed that,” he says as Eames walks him to the door.

“Missed what?” Eames asks, pulling out his phone to call for a cab.

“Darling,” Arthur mumbles. “Missed you calling me that.”

Eames freezes for a moment, then glances at Arthur with a wry smile. “Christ, Arthur, you sound drunk right now.”

Arthur sighs. “Not drunk. Never drink. Just happy and tired.”

“A potent combination, it seems.”

Arthur chuckles and lets his head flop against Eames’ shoulder. “I could keep playing that piano forever.”

“I could keep listening to you play that piano forever,” Eames responds.

Arthur looks Eames in the eye. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for bringing me here.”

Eames stares back at Arthur and wonders where Arthur has kept this side of himself hidden. Eames wants to protect it, keep it safe and soft forever.

“Absolutely, Arthur,” he whispers back.

Eames calls the cab, helps Arthur into it, pays the cabbie in advance, and watches it drive away. And once he gets home, he texts Arthur to make sure he’s still alive. And he falls asleep smiling, his phone next to his pillow, displaying Arthur’s response.

_yes eames alive and home safe thnak yiu fir eberthnig._

_everything i meant_

_im going to sleep now. goodnight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bit of an early-onset midlife crisis. About a week ago, while I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I did what all good authors do and started writing a story in my head instead of counting sheep. It was a fabulous story, with the best--literally, the _best_ \--opening sentence, heck opening _paragraph_ I had ever written, and it was an AU for Arthur and Eames.
> 
> And do you know what happened? I fell asleep.
> 
> And do you know what happened? I woke up in the morning with absolutely _no idea_ what my story had been about. And I haven't been able to remember it since. And I'm telling you, it was _good_. I can't even remember what the AU had been. And it's driving me crazy.
> 
> So, moral of the story: if you come up with a great idea, WRITE IT DOWN.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show continues, and now the public gets to decide who advances to the next round. Arthur ends up on Eames’ couch almost every night than a new episode airs, and they watch the performances over a comically large bowl of popcorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am putting this on all three of my WIPs: I have pretty much planned out all of [Unchained Melody](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5952099) and [A Mindful Friend](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6824026), so I plan to update those and [Sensational](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7132283) on a fairly regular, rotating basis. So if I updated Melody, then I'll make sure I updated Friend and Sensational first before coming back to Melody. Deal? Let's see if I can tie up some of these loose ends!
> 
> \----
> 
> Sooo I accidentally got my fics messed up in my head in the last chapter, and so Eames never formally asked Arthur for his cell phone number in this one. Oops. Can we just assume that it happened *waves arms around* at some point? :-]

Arthur’s first thought when he wakes up is, _Shit._ He scrambles out of bed to find his phone, praying that no inappropriate tweets are out on the internet about his ridiculous behavior last night.

There are plenty of notifications, mostly from fans.

_@florally: Why do all my favorite singers get eliminated so quickly??? So sad to see them go so soon_

_@gnis: Can we take a minute to say ALL of @ArthurGordon’s original team members ARE STILL ON THE SHOW? #ArthurVoice_

_@arthurisbeautiful in response to @gnis: YES! Thanks to @ArthurGordon’s brilliance no doubt. #TeamArthurForTheWin #ArthurVoice_

_@ayyy_125: WHAT Harry can’t leave #TeamArthur! Nooooooooooo_

_@rockinroger: Can’t wait to see what next week has in store for everyone_

Right. Knockouts. Harry gone. Ariadne, Diana, and Irene are left. He quickly scrolls through every single notification and doesn’t dare to breathe until he gets to the very end with nothing from @eamessings.

He knows he should probably feel bad for even thinking that Eames would do that to him, but one can never be too careful. Especially since Arthur was the idiot who let himself play the piano for hours after way too many sleepless nights. He should’ve known better.

With a quick shake of his head, Arthur grabs his notebook and begins brainstorming for the next few rounds. He has enough on his plate with this ridiculous show. The last thing he needs to be doing is obsessing over a single night spent with a Grand Piano.

~+~+~

The show continues, and now the public gets to decide who advances to the next round. Arthur ends up on Eames’ couch almost every night that a new episode airs, and they watch the performances while sharing a comically large bowl of popcorn.

Arthur finds himself opening up to Eames more, after the Night of the Grand Piano. He shares the thoughts he usually shelters in his head, he laughs more freely. Eames calls Arthur “darling” more often than not and nudges his way into Arthur’s personal space. It works for them, and they fall into an easy camaraderie on viewing nights. Arthur doesn’t let himself ponder _why_ , exactly, this is happening. He’s focusing all his attention on surviving The Voice.

~+~+~

Every one of Arthur’s team members--both his current and original ones--easily move up in the ranks on The Voice. They each hold a place in the Top 15, much to Arthur’s delight.

Twitter has fallen in love with all of them.

_@labyrinthing: Ariadne’s voice kills me every time. I could listen to her forever! #TeamArthur_

_@bettyrocker: Diana is a powerhouse. You go girl! #TeamArthur_

_@yortaulcslof: Irene is an angel, really. Who else wants her to sing My Heart Will Go On? #TeamArthur_

_@kjmits: *chants* Harry Harry Harry Harry #TeamBlake_

_@CharlenE: @Isaaac is my bae, I need him to win this!! #TeamAdam_

Eames has his own cult, practically.

_@eamess: I don’t know what is better, @eamessings accent or his singing #TeamBlake_

_@eamesss: I love @eamessings as a singer, but guys look at this shirt WHAT IS THIS? pic.twitter._

The show flies by in a flurry of rehearsals, performances, recordings. Arthur is exhausted, and he starts to look forward to his evenings curled up on the couch with Eames, idly watching the episodes air on TV.

The Top 10 are announced, and Eames and Ariadne make the cut. Arthur manages to track everyone else down to congratulate them on a job well done and give them his card in case they ever want to get in touch with him. He is hugged more in that time span than he’s been hugged in his entire life.

The night that episode airs, Arthur arrives at Eames’ practically tied into knots. Eames takes one look at Arthur and steers him to the couch.

“Christ, Arthur,” he says. His hands go to Arthur’s shoulders and gently rub and knead.

Arthur lets his head fall towards his chest. “Mmph,” he answers.

He can hear the performances starting, the crowds cheering, but he can’t be bothered to look up, not when Eames is massaging every knot out of Arthur’s back.

“You alright, darling?” Eames asks at the first commercial.

“If I were a cat I’d be purring,” Arthur says.

That night, when he gets home, he falls onto his bed, boneless, exhausted, but relaxed and content in the way that he only ever gets on viewing nights with Eames. He needs to take more breaks from Voice-related things, he decides.

~+~+~

Eames and Ariadne make it to the Top 8. After that announcement, Ariadne spends most of the day screaming in Arthur’s dressing room. Arthur inserts his ear plugs and tries to act supportive while preserving his hearing at the same time.

Then they make it to the Top 4, and Arthur almost wants to join Ariadne in her screaming.

_Top 4._

Mal texts him. _Well done, mon cher. I knew you could do it._

He smiles and writes back, _Don’t get ahead of yourself. This doesn’t necessarily mean Ariadne’s going to win._

She doesn’t reply. Arthur wouldn’t have either.

~+~+~

The final four singers are allowed a duet with a famous celebrity as part of the finale. Ariadne doesn’t know who to pick.

“Can I do Hunter Hayes?” she asks. “No no wait, Sia! No, Lorde! Agh, no. Wait, can I do Adele? _Oh my God_ if I could meet Adele. Or Bruno Mars. Or Ed Sheeran!” She sighs dramatically. “Arthur, how on earth am I supposed to choose?”

He smiles. “I don’t know. Put their names in a hat?”

She blows a raspberry at him. “Thanks for nothing.”

~+~+~

Blake grabs Arthur on his way to his dressing room. “Hey, man, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks.

Arthur frowns. “Sure? Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Blake says with a smile. “No, it’s about Eames.”

“What did he do?” Arthur asks, dreading the answer.

“Oh, you can wipe that look off your face,” Blake assures him with a laugh. “It’s nothing like that.”

Arthur tilts his head to one side. “So what is it then?”

Blake shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, see Eames has picked someone unusual for his duet, and I just wanted to check with you before I told him it was okay. I already asked the producers, and they said they’re fine with it, but you know, I think you should be allowed to give some input too.” He looks at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur stares back. “Who did he pick?” he asks after a pause.

Blake laughs. “Oh, shoot, did I forget to say that? He wants you to do the duet with him.”

Arthur’s snarky response dies on his tongue. “He wants me to _what?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I could've done more with this chapter, but honestly I'm really looking forward to writing the next part, so I couldn't help but rush a bit. Sorry? I promise, the next chapter is going to be GREAT.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames isn’t surprised when Arthur shows up outside his door that night.
> 
> “You want me to _what?_ ” Arthur demands.

Eames isn’t surprised when Arthur shows up outside his door that night.

“You want me to _what?_ ” Arthur demands.

“Hello to you too, darling,” Eames says as he steps aside and invites Arthur in with a grand sweep of his arm.

“Eames,” Arthur says, but he steps inside and immediately sits on the couch.

“Arthur,” Eames says.

Arthur gesticulates frantically for a moment and sighs heavily.

“Could you elaborate?” Eames asks.

Arthur glares. “Why do you want to use up your duet with me? What are we even going to sing?”

Eames frowns. “First of all, this is anything _but_ me _using up_ my duet. Let’s make that perfectly clear. I have been looking forward to this for almost my whole life.” Arthur blinks repeatedly, and Eames smiles. “And I would love to perform the piano piece you’ve been working on during this entire show.”

Arthur frowns. “That arrangement isn’t for voice,” he says. He doesn’t seem inclined to address the rest of what Eames has said.

Eames laughs. “Then we’ll change it, darling.”

Arthur hesitates, then nods, once.

“Is that alright, then?” Eames asks. “Will you be my duet partner?”

Arthur smiles. “Of course I will, Eames.”

~+~+~

They start working that night, when brainstorming turns to piano-playing turns to singing and editing. It is a gorgeous, haunting rendition of _Scarborough Fair_ that Eames thinks embodies Arthur. It begins deceptively simple but reaches breathtaking volumes in between the near-constant key changes.

Eames loves it.

When he falls asleep that night, he dreams of ghostly fairs, piano keys, and delicate, talented fingers.

~+~+~

“It’s too boring,” Arthur says and sighs loudly. “Too rote.”

Eames leans over Arthur’s shoulder and squints at Arthur’s scrawled musical notations. “What about trills?” he asks.

Arthur wrinkles his nose. “Absolutely not.”

Eames stares, lost in the naturalness, the _adorable-ness_ , of the movement. “Just in a few places,” he says a half-second late. “Like here,” he points. “Or here.”

Arthur tries it. He keeps playing, goes to the end of the page. He sighs and grabs his pencil.

~+~+~

“What about layers, darling?” Eames is sprawled on the floor next to the piano in Arthur’s dressing room. If he wanted, he could reach out and touch Arthur’s foot on the pedal. He definitely wants to, but he doesn’t.

“Layers?” Arthur asks absently. Eames can hear the _scritch-scratch_ of his pencil. “How do you mean?”

“When you and I sing,” Eames says, “we should be singing in layers. One of us singing the usual melody, _Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_ , while the other sings along with the piano. That line we made, you know?”

Arthur hums. “This one?” He plays a few measures, with the added trills.

“Yeah, there,” Eames says. “ _I’m looking for my true love,_ that one.”

Arthur is quiet for a moment, and Eames stretches. “Alright,” Arthur says. “I like it.”

~+~+~

The night of their performance, Eames drops in to check on Arthur, and he is met with an armful of Ariadne.

“Eames!” she says, squeezing him tight. “How are you? How is everything? Oh my God, congratulations on making it to the top four!”

Eames smiles. “Congrats to you too, Ariadne. Listen, is Arthur here?”

She shakes her head. “You just missed him. Mal had to talk to him about something. Why?”

Eames shrugs noncommittally. He and Arthur had agreed to keep their duet a secret to surprise everyone. They’ve even talked to the producers to make them film the intro footage without showing Arthur’s face.

“Just wanted to wish you both luck tonight,” he says.

“You too!” Ariadne gushes. “Can’t wait!”

“Me neither,” Eames says. “Me neither.”

~+~+~

Part one of the Finals, Eames thinks to himself. Bloody hell.

Singers get two duets tonight, one with a celebrity, and one with their own coach.

Ariadne and Arthur are magnificent, of course. And Eames’ duet with Blake is perfectly acceptable, if a bit boring to Eames, who’s forgotten how repetitive the country genre can be after spending hours with Arthur’s controlled passion and excitement.

The coach-contestant performances go quickly, and Eames realizes he’s sweating as they queue up the intro for his and Arthur’s duet.

He checks Twitter, for lack of anything better to do.

_Can I take Arthur home with me and keep him forever? #ArthurVoice_

_Ariadne has the voice of an angel oh my God! #TheVoiceFinals_

_EEaaaammmmmmeeessssssss #TheVoiceFinals_

_Aaaaaaaah I don’t know who I want to win, Eames or Ariadne!!! #TheVoiceFinals #TeamArthur #TeamBlake_

_OMG Eames’ celebrity duet is up next!! Who is his celebrity??? #TheVoiceFinals_

He tucks his phone away as the footage starts to play.

“The celebrity I chose,” he hears himself saying, “is an amazingly talented artist whom I’ve admired for years.”

Arthur appears at his side, nervous fingers straightening his tie and jacket, his handwritten sheet music tucked under his arm. “Ready?” he asks without looking over at Eames.

“We’ve been working on this piece together,” Eames continues on the video, “for the last couple of nights. My celebrity arranged the piece himself, and we just had to make a few adjustments for a vocal accompaniment.”

“Ready,” Eames says to Arthur. “You?”

Arthur swallows and laughs, once. “Sure. We should probably be getting settled on stage.”

Eames nods and reaches out to grab Arthur’s elbow.

“Eames?” Arthur frowns.

Eames doesn’t let himself think about it. He leans in and presses his lips against Arthur’s, lightly, then pulls away. 

“I can’t wait to show everyone what we’ve got,” he hears himself saying on the film.

Arthur is staring. “Eames?” he says again.

Someone is ushering them onstage. Eames leans down and whispers in Arthur’s ear, “Let’s blow them all away, darling.”

Arthur sits at the piano and spreads out his pages, still looking stunned in the semi-darkness. Eames finds his microphone and shifts around, listens to Arthur get settled as well.

They both breathe together. The audience is silent.

Eames bows his head and listens to Arthur’s piano solo at the opening of the song. The lights fade in, and spotlights center on them both. The audience screams, briefly, when they realize who the pianist is.

Part one of the Finals, Eames thinks as his cue plays. Bloody hell.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wonders, as he hears their voices and the piano combine, if it is possible for people to make magic by creating music.

Arthur was warming up with Ariadne when Mal appeared, making dramatic excuses with flowery French words and hand gestures. She pulled Arthur out into the hall and down to an abandoned practice room and then returned to her usual, pushy self.

“You are releasing another album,” she said.

Arthur frowned. “With what music?”

Mal rolled her eyes. “With Eames,” she said.

“With--wait, what?”

“Keep up, Arthur,” Mal said. “You will release an album with remixes of your song. I would love if we could make it two parts, one with piano solos, and one with Eames accompanying you, but I will settle for what you can give me.”

Arthur was staring, he knew. “Did you talk to Eames about this?” he asked, eventually.

“Of course not.” Mal waved her hand through the air dismissively. “But I have heard you both practicing, and it is a crime that the public cannot hear more than this one song, no?”

“No,” said Arthur, with a frown.

Mal rolled her eyes again. “Give me your final decision after the show is over,” she said, and she walked away.

So when he makes it backstage next to Eames, later, listening to Eames’ voice in the video introduction to their surprise duet, Arthur’s more than a little frazzled. _What?_ he keeps thinking.

And then when Eames grabs his arm, Arthur is _sure_ that Mal lied to him, that she absolutely, totally talked to Eames and lied and said it was already a done deal, and Arthur can feel his adrenaline roaring because, of course, this is the night when everything hits the fan and Eames is going to, like, storm out of here, offended, because, of course, this is the night he is performing live not once, but twice, and then Eames.

Eames kisses him.

And Arthur. Arthur doesn’t know what is happening anymore.

“Eames?” he says, asking something he doesn’t know how to say.

Eames leans down, and Arthur can’t help it--his eyes flutter shut at the sound of Eames’ rich voice in his ear. “Let’s blow them all away, darling.”

And then they’re onstage, _they’re onstage,_ and the lights are dimmed, so that Arthur will be a real, actual surprise, and Eames has found his microphone, and Arthur is spreading out his sheets with unsteady hands, because _what?_ and he closes his eyes and forces himself to take deep breaths and just push it all to the side, because he’s about to perform live right now, _perform live_ with Eames, and he doesn’t want to mess everything up.

He can hear his breathing slowly falling into sync with Eames’ and _that_ is what blows away all of his stress, their already-familiar rhythm.

He rests his fingers on the keys, feels their comforting weight, and plays the opening notes, soft, haunting.

The lights brighten as he plays, and he is distantly aware of the audience screaming, but he is already enveloped in the music, in _his_ music, and then Eames starts to sing, and Arthur realizes, during the pause that makes him wonder if the audience is holding their breath too, as Eames holds that note so beautifully, that it’s _their_ music.

He starts to play again, with the trills that Eames suggested, which are, of course, perfect, and he listens to Eames sing with his gorgeous, silky voice.

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

And Arthur leans into his microphone as the refrain he composed approaches, and he sings, softly, _”I’m looking for my true love.”_

He wonders, as he hears their voices and the piano combine, if it is possible for people to make magic by creating music.

His fingers dance across the keys, through the key changes, through the pages of arpeggios, and they slow, slightly, as Eames’ voice climbs to that ridiculous, _glorious_ high note, and they press harder, coaxing out the crescendo, then the _forte,_ and Eames is right there with him, singing like an angel.

Of course it’s possible, he thinks to himself. We’re making magic right here, right now.

And then the last page of his song falls off the music stand.

His breath sticks in his throat, and Eames must hear, must notice _something,_ because he turns around to look at Arthur, spots the page on the ground next to the piano bench, and he actually _turns his back to the audience_ to pick it up and put it back on the music stand.

Except it won’t stay, because the page is determined to be curly in the middle, and Arthur is panicking, while playing automatically, coming closer and closer to the notes on that last page, and Eames just.

Eames stays at Arthur’s side, holding the page out in front of him, carefully positioned where he know he won’t be in Arthur’s way, and he sings _into Arthur’s microphone_ with him, because they both have seen the sound checks where the feedback from two too-close microphones nearly breaks eardrums, and Arthur doesn’t know what is happening right now because Eames is singing _into Arthur’s ear,_ he is so close, his hand is resting on Arthur’s back, and Arthur’s eyes are reading his scribbled notes, and his hands are playing perfectly, and everything is just so wonderfully _perfect_ that when they finally, suddenly reach the end of the song, the soft, haunting notes returning, Arthur wants to just go back to page one and start again.

He plays the final chord and leans back from the keys, taking his first deep breath in five minutes, and the audience _roars._

Eames drops the page and wraps his arms around Arthur in a giant hug, laughing gleefully.

“We did it, darling,” Eames says, directly into Arthur’s ear. “Bloody brilliant!”

And he squeezes Arthur even tighter, and Arthur can’t help but laugh, loudly, slightly hysterically, and Eames bends down and brushes his lips against Arthur’s temple, just over his ear.

And then he leans away and bows dramatically and gestures for Arthur to stand and join him, and Arthur thinks that if he weren’t more concerned about his personal hygiene, he would never wash that side of his face ever again.

Eames grabs Arthur’s hand, and Arthur turns to him, questioning, and then Eames raises their twined hands into the air triumphantly and Arthur laughs again, laughs more than he has in months, and thinks that they have really, truly made magic.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And the winner is,” Daly says, then pauses for effect. The wait stretches on and on. Eames grips Ariadne’s hand tighter so he doesn't shout at Daly to tell him to just get on with it already.

Eames is in heaven. He has Arthur pressed against his side, their twined fingers raised in the air triumphantly, and Arthur is beaming, absolutely radiant.

Eames wants Arthur to smile like that forever.

He can still feel the softness of Arthur's lips against his, and there is so much he wants to say, but they are rushed along so that the rest of the finale can proceed, and suddenly Arthur's back in his chair, and Eames is backstage again.

It's alright, Eames thinks. He'll tell Arthur later.

~+~+~

They eliminate Nash and that blonde with the cowboy hat--Eames really has no clue how she even made it to the Top 4--and so he and Ariadne are the only two left.

They stand on the stage, side by side, and Ariadne grips Eames’ hand in hers.

“Good luck,” she whispers in his ear as Daly addresses the audience.

“You too,” Eames says. He sang a duet with Arthur and was magnificent. He really couldn't care less who the winner of The Voice is. He sang a duet with Arthur.

“The polls are closing soon,” Daly says.

Eames squints through the spotlights to see the Coaches’ Chairs. Arthur's face is completely blank, and Eames wonders if he even slept at all the night before. As he watches, Adam leans across his chair to tell Arthur something. Arthur nods.

“The polls are now closed, and we are tallying everyone's votes,” Daly announces. “Stay tuned.”

They stop as commercials play, and Eames wishes he could go and chat with Arthur. He's sure he'd be able to think of at least one thing to make Arthur smile a bit.

“I'm so nervous,” Ariadne says.

Arthur glances over at the two of them and waves, minimally.

“Don't be nervous, Ariadne,” Eames says. “I promise I won't key your car when you win.” He waves dramatically at Arthur, and he thinks he sees a small hint of a smile. It's so hard to tell through the glare.

Ariadne laughs and playfull shoves his arm.

“Back on in five,” someone calls. “Four, three..”

“Welcome back to The Voice, ladies and gentlemen,” Daly says.

The audience cheers and claps and screams. 

“And the winner is,” Daly says, then pauses for effect. The wait stretches on and on. Eames grips Ariadne’s hand tighter so he doesn't shout at Daly to tell him to just get on with it already.

Daly takes a breath, then waits a bit more.

“Ariadne!”

The room explodes in noise, and Eames turns and engulfs Ariadne in a crushing hug.

“Congrats,” he says.

She laughs wetly. “Oh, my God.”

The audience’s screams seem to have plateaued at a medium, ear-splitting level. The Coaches run onto the stage, and Ariadne runs to Arthur.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” she sobs into his shirt.

He wraps his arms around her and whispers something in her ear. She nods furiously.

Blake comes over and pats Eames on the shoulder. “You done good,” he says.

“Thanks,” Eames says.

Adam rolls his eyes. “That's Blake for you are an incredible singer, and it's been an honor,” he informs Eames.

Eames laughs. “Oh, okay. Thank you.”

He says thank you so much in the next few minutes that he thinks he might have forgotten any other English phrase.

Then Arthur comes over. “Eames,” he says, then stops.

“Arthur,” Eames says.

“You guys!” Ariadne rushes over and pulls them both into a hug. Eames is graced once again with the sensation of Arthur’s back under his hand, of Arthur's warmth against his side.

“You're a phenomenal singer,” Arthur says after Ariadne has left to go hug her family.

“Likewise,” Eames says with a smile. “I meant it when I said I've idolized you since I was a kid.”

Arthur smiles faintly. “I thought you said you listened to my music since you were a kid.”

Eames shrugs and laughs. “Same thing.”

Arthur nods. “So,” he says. “How would you like to keep making music with me?”

Eames blinks and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Arthur, darling, you should at least buy me dinner before I let you get that far.”

Arthur frowns and looks down. “I'm serious,” he says. “I’m a producer. I'm due to release another album, and I'd like you to be on it. So how about it?”

Eames stares and nervously licks his lips. “There's something I need to tell you first.”

“Other than the fact that you idolized me for years?” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“I love you,” Eames blurts. He swallows and presses on. “Have done for years.”

Arthur seems to ponder that. The audience is still screaming, and Eames is dimly aware of the crowd of people surrounding them. He wonders if this was really the best time to be saying this, in front of all these people and cameras. He should have just said yes and saved the big reveal for later, he berates himself, he should have--

“I,” Arthur says, and Eames’ attention swings back to him. “I like you too.”

It takes a moment for Eames to parse his words, and then he smiles and laughs. “Oh, Arthur, darling,” he says, and steps closer. He places a hand on Arthur’s waist and smiles more widely when Arthur leans into it. He lowers his head so their noses are almost touching, so that he can see the flecks of color in Arthur's eyes.

“Ask me again, darling,” he whispers and watches Arthur's eyelashes flutter.

“Would you like to make more music with me?” Arthur breathes.

“Yes,” Eames says, and he kisses Arthur on live television.


End file.
